We all learn at some point in life that nothing is permanent, all is transient. This is a powerful and poignant life lesson when it comes to us, usually through some major loss or transition. Growing up, I always thought that what I had and who I had around me would always be there. As I grow into my late 60s, I find that I’ve had to relearn and reframe that thinking — loss and change are a daily occurrence that somehow I must adjust to. It is a way of life for all of us.

What matters most to you? Why so? While we might come up with a similar list of people, relationships, beliefs, places, and artifacts, we each find our way to our respective lists in entirely unique ways. When I think to ask others what matters most to them, their response — and possibly our discussion — may become one of the core themes of their lives. Words like protective, supportive, embracing, loving, caring, and precious are among the terms often used to describe that or whom we care about most.

In times of liminality and change, such as now, our concerns about “holding on” to what matters most for each of us are immeasurably challenged and therefore heightened. Most of what matters are things that take time, intention, and determination to create. We find ourselves often putting blood, sweat, and tears into building those things that we want to stand and withstand the test of time. Of course, in the end, all is temporary and transient. But, while we are in the midst of creation, we hope and we work to generate experiences, relationships, and accomplishments that we are passionate about. Generally, all human endeavors are composed of two components: process and product. Sometimes, one of these is emphasized more than the other – but, in a word, all of this matters.

When it appears that someone outside of our inner circles wants to diminish or demolish something that is of great import to us, it is a natural and human response to become either attacking or fearful — the well-known and ubiquitous “fight or flight” response.

The threat of take-away is, in my experience, universal. We’ve all gone through this as children with our parents or guardians, or perhaps older siblings. But this threat and reality is not limited to our early childhood years —  it continues onward throughout our lives. We may or may not know the individual doing this personally, but the feeling of dread or anger or shock exists regardless. It may even be something relatively benign: time to return that precious library book that we’ve not finished; time to head home after a fabulous vacation; graduation, job transition — the possibilities are, literally, endless. Yet there is a consistency to our reactions and responses: I want to keep this going, or I want to hang onto this longer, or I’m not ready to let go. And yet, always, there is a time and a place to say farewell.

Holding on to what matters is one critical way of bringing meaning into our lives. Whether it’s building a loving relationship with a family member or a partner or friend, or learning a new instrument or hobby or skill, or getting promoted in our careers — we pursue what matters because of one thing — we care. In the daily rush of our lives, we often don’t take the time necessary to dig down deep enough to tell ourselves and those around us that someone or something matters.

Whether or not something matters to us is important, yet a concurrent step we often overlook is to let others close to us know this. When others who care about us know what is most meaningful to us, we can enlist and engage them in helping us to stay connected to whatever or whomever it is. This doesn’t always work: relationships end, marriages break up, people lose their jobs, we all take ill — and the sad fact is that sometimes there is simply nothing that anyone can do to change a particular situation. But our lives are bigger than ourselves, and humans long to belong and feel included in groups, events, and communities.

It is a profound question and interaction to be asked what matters to us. When I ask this of others, I let go of any preconception regarding their response. Their answer is deeply personal, and it must be listened to deeply more than merely heard. I find conversations that come around to this concern are profound and meaningful. How would you respond if asked? What would your answer be based on? And, finally, can you imagine your world or your life without whatever it is that matters most to you?

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Taking the time to think about this often prepares us for the eventual reality that we may lose or have to let go. In the immortal words of Antoine de Saint Exupery’s iconic book, “The Little Prince,” the fox says, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye … ” It is well worth considering these words as we continue to discern what is most important in our one precious life.

Daniel Cantor Yalowitz writes a regular column in the Recorder. A developmental and intercultural psychologist, he has facilitated change in many organizations and communities around the world. His two most recent books are “Journeying with Your Archetypes” and “Reflections on the Nature of Friendship.” Reach out to him at danielcyalowitz@gmail.com.